


In Which Spot is a Dick but He Gets His Shit Together™

by feathertail, FeralCreed



Series: RP Fics [4]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (Not Sprace don't worry), Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Getting Back Together, M/M, Physical Abuse, Spot is a dick, break-up, referenced sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 21:04:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12615472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertail/pseuds/feathertail, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/pseuds/FeralCreed
Summary: Spot overreacts when Race comes home after making out drunkenly with a stranger, and walks out of his life, forcing Race to forget they ever knew each other, sending Race spiralling down into an abusive relationship with the stranger. Will Spot figure it out and save Race before it's too late?12/7/18 This story will no longer be continued.





	1. Chapter 1

Spot had never been comfortable with Feelings. He wasn't one for physical contact, public displays of affection, or pet names. So when Race had asked him out, it had come as a shock, yes, but what had come as even more of one was how he'd said yes...  
  
And now it had come back to bite him. He'd let Race go out with a few mates without him, and now one of said mates had said that they'd lost him when he'd apparently gone home with someone he'd picked up at the bar while more than a little tipsy. He'd scarpered pretty soon after, given the hard glare Spot's face settled into.  
  
He'd spent the time since gathering up his belongings and packing them back into the cardboard boxes he'd brought them in when he moved in a while back, moving quickly and efficiently in order to try and escape how much Race was on his mind and how much he was hurting now. He had no clue when Race was going to be back, and didn't want to be here when that happened.  
  
That plan fell to shit as he heard the door slam. He tensed.  
  
Race had teased and pestered Spot into letting him go out drinking without adult supervision. The mates he'd wanted to go out with hadn't really counted, to be honest. And they'd had fun, gone to a couple different bars, before a smoking hot man wrapped in leather started trying to get Race's attention. He'd gone along with it, flirted back, let the stranger buy him a couple drinks and stand too close and whisper in his ear. And since his buddies hadn't wanted to head home yet, Race had taken advantage of the stranger's offer to take him back home.   
  
The guy had gotten a little handsy on the way, and Race had kind of let him. And they'd kissed in front of the building he lived in, the other man leaving a bruise on the side of his neck when he forced his jaw around for another kiss. Race had walked away right then and there, fumbling with his keys a little during the elevator ride to his floor.   
  
He leaned against the door as he went to get the key in the lock, which resulted in the door slamming open. Race made a vague sound of annoyance at that and continued into his apartment. He was kind of hungry but mostly  wanted to find out where his boyfriend was. Spending a night in sounded pretty good, watch a movie, do a little kissing. And there was the man himself. Upon seeing Spot, he brightened immediately, not noticing the other's expression at all.   
  
"C'mere," he insisted, taking a couple steps toward him. "There was this asshole at the bar, said he'd bring me home but I had to yell at him." He frowned at the boxes, trying to make the connection. “Did we get new stuff?"  
  
"We?" Spot snorted derisively, sealing up the last few boxes hastily, and a little messily. "Since when was there a 'we'?" He picked up the heaviest, and started to lug it around Race to the door, setting it by the elevator; he'd called a friend to come help and lend him his truck. Thankfully, Chuckles wouldn't ask questions about why.  
  
He swatted at Race as he came too close. "Fuck off," he hissed, then let slip that he knew they were a thing. "You wanted us to be exclusive, Racetrack, and then you go pick up other guys who give you fucking hickeys," because he knew that bruise hadn't been him. "So I'm going," he snarled, pushing at Race as he carried another box through the door. He kept this up until all the boxes were outside (thankfully there weren't that many) and Chuckles had arrived to help him.  
  
"Goodbye, Racetrack," he glowered.  
  
"For a while," Race answered, not recognizing the question as rhetorical. "Like, a year?" Spot was acting all weird tonight, but that wasn't entirely unusual. It was just the brand of weird that changed. He watched the box get dragged around, still not putting things together but getting steadily more confused. Were they going to move or something?   
  
Well, those were questions for later. Race reached for him, intending to slip an arm around his waist and kiss him and ask him what he wanted to watch over dinner. Instead he got rebuffed, causing hurt, confused puppy eyes. Now what was that for? There was absolutely no reason for him to react like that just because his boyfriend came home. And what was with all the boxes?   
  
"He gave me a ride home, that doesn't mean anything!" he protested. If it had been one of his buddies giving him a ride home, Spot wouldn't be making a fuss out of it. And... "What hickey?" But then Spot dropped the bombshell, and Race pulled up short, pain and fear flickering across his face. Going? Going where? Why was he going? Did he think that? He stepped out of the other's path, trying to figure out what was going on.   
  
"G-Goodbye? But Spot, wait, I-"  
  
"What hickey? The monstrosity on the side of your neck, take a look in the fucking mirror, bastard!" Spot spat, last box in his arms as he pushed past Race, not caring how scared and hurt he looked.   
  
"You nothin', you got that, Higgins?" he snarled, passing the box to Chuckles as he turned back to Race one last time. "You close this door, and you've never seen me in your life. You got that? Otherwise you'll be getting more bruises, and they won't be the nice ones. Okay? Now get out."  
  
He turned on his heel and stalked away, not looking back at Race as the elevator doors closed behind him and his friend, taking them down to the car park. He piled the boxes into the truck, concentrating on anything and everything but Antonio "Racetrack" Higgins.  
  
Race put a full three seconds of all-out effort into looking for a mirror to take a look until getting distracted by the fact that Spot still looked like he was leaving. And Race still had no idea what he thought, or why, or who had told him or how. Or anything, really, but he clearly wasn't going to get a single word of answer from his furious boyfriend... maybe ex-boyfriend, the thought of which scared him shitless because he couldn't lose Spot, he didn't want to.   
  
The harsh words made him take a step back, feeling a whole new level of wounded. But... he'd always said... he'd promised him... Race knew he'd always been more emotionally demonstrative between the two of them, but he could never in a million years have expected this. And how long had these feelings been festering beneath the surface that Spot was exploding like this? What did it say about Race himself that he hadn't seen, hadn't known, that he'd acted like Spot would think he'd cheated on him? Off-kilter and frightened as he was, Spot's words took root much easier than they would have under normal circumstances.   
  
"I don't want to forget," he whispered, after Spot had already gone and it was too late to actually say anything. He ran to the window of the apartment, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the car park, but only saw a pair of taillights turning out onto the road. Backing away from it, he glanced around the room, trying to figure out what had happened on a detailed level. Clearly Spot was furious with him, and Race didn't think he'd be able to convince him to come back.   
  
He went through a couple of the rooms, still tipsy, before deciding that tonight had really sucked and he really wanted to go to bed. Maybe things would look better in the morning. Race grabbed the one remaining blanket from the bed, funnily enough the only one he'd bought himself, and wrapped himself up on the couch. The blanket still smelled like Spot, but their bed was too big and empty and cold for him to sleep there himself. It always had been, even when they'd been close, when Race had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love and thought he'd be able to stay there forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Spot put Race firmly out of his mind for the foreseeable future, and pretended, when he hung out with the rest of the guys and Race was there, that either he was invisible, or that he was a mutual friend of a friend that he didn't like the look of and therefore ignored with a passion. Although he was at least as brokenhearted as Race, he pushed it down so much, as usual, that he seemed completely at ease with everything, or as at ease that Spot Conlon could be.  
  
It was all going pretty well until he, David, Jack, Crutchie, and Race and his boyfriend were out at a bar for the night, with Spot at one end of the group and Race at the other, their friends having all but given up on making Spot talk to Race again. Davey and Jack had got up to go get more drinks, and Crutchie had escaped to the toilet, likely more than a little uncomfortable around Spot's glaring.  
  
Said boyfriend of Race stood up, and asked to see him outside, and Spot was left alone. It took Jack, Davey, and Crutchie all returning for Spot to get a feeling of unease about how Race hadn't returned. Damn his feelings.  
  
He got up and went outside, and searched for the pair, and was, honestly, instantly glad he'd found them, Race, and the abusive asshole his boyfriend turned out to be. "Oi!" He yelled, balling his fists. "Fuck off!" And then he was on him, disadvantaged in height, yes, but so much more powerful in his blows. He didn't stop until the ass was staggering away, bleeding from multiple orifices and open wounds Spot had inflicted.  
  
Then Spot knelt to touch Race, to try to pry him out of the ball he had curled into. "Hey," he murmured, voice a gentle tone he used for no-one but Racer, setting a gentle hand on his arm to try to rouse him, then tugged off his jacket to keep Race warm and to try to negate effects of shock, if that happened. "Hey, Racer, it's me. It's okay. He's gone." He pulled out his phone and texted the others to tell them that they were going.  
  
As far as Race knew, Spot had completely and totally forgotten about him without a single regret. He'd stayed confused and adrift for almost two weeks, until he'd ended up circling back around to the bar where everything had gone wrong. The same guy had been there, just as pushy and handsy as the first time, but now Race had let him get away with it. Let himself be taken to the guy's apartment for a quick fuck and didn't complain when he was kicked out immediately afterwards. Instead he went back home and didn't feel clean even after he'd taken a shower. Somehow the stranger found him again and then they became a regular thing, at least on the other man's end. Race knew he wasn't the only one taken home, even if he was the most regular.   
  
Things slowly and steadily progressed to being worse. Disrespect. Arguments. Insults and curses. Physical force progressing to violence when Race didn't want to do something, and then all the time. He got used to tensing up whenever the front door opened, flinching at sharp movements, ducking away whenever the guy reached for him. Usually he didn't manage to get away, and it only ended up in a worse beating for him. Once a few months had passed, he learned that it was just easier to take the original punishment than make it worse for himself by trying to be defiant.   
  
He'd thought about leaving, once or twice, in the beginning. But hell, Spot had said it himself the night they'd finished - he was nothing. And in Race's own eyes, he deserved nothing better than what he got. Most of the bruises were hidden, anyway, and his boyfriend only hit him in the face when he'd really screwed up. So he deserved it, when it happened, or so he was able to tell himself. Besides, there were plenty of cover stories that he could tell, and he could treat all the minor injuries himself, so there was no need for anyone to know. Not even Jack or David or Crutchie.   
  
He hadn't told his boyfriend he'd stayed in touch with the three of them, against orders. His boyfriend was sort of jealous, even though he slept around plenty, and hadn't wanted him hanging out with his old friends. Tonight was something he was able to pass off as a coincidence. He'd been obedient all week, which he hoped would help lessen the expected beating, because there were only so many days of work he could miss and he didn't want to go while he was in pain.   
  
Everything was going all right, he supposed, at least until his boyfriend caught on that Spot was his ex. Then he wanted to talk, and Race knew from the way he was grabbed under the table that he was in real trouble. Instead of making a scene about things, he just nodded and followed him outside, stuffing his hands awkwardly in his pockets. It only took a few seconds for the other man to turn on him, start asking questions and making accusations.   
  
"I'm not, I promise, I haven't," he said desperately, holding his hands up and backing away from him. But that didn't work at all, and in another minute, his boyfriend had worked himself up into another fit of anger. Race just tried to run for it, but he got knocked down in seconds, scraping up his hands on the concrete. This time he wasn't stopping, and Race just curled up in a ball, trying to protect himself without doing anything that might make it worse.   
  
There was a whole lot more yelling in a second, but Race didn't dare look up, didn't dare move, just in case. Instead he just hyperventilated and worried, because if someone had tried to break things up, his boyfriend would be even more furious and Race didn't even know when he'd stop hitting him for that. When someone touched him, he flinched, not even recognizing the gentle tone or Spot's voice after what had just happened to him.   
  
Considering how long it had been since he'd really been shown affection, just having a jacket put over him was a weird feeling. And definitely not something his boyfriend would have done in a million years. He uncurled slightly, trying to make sense of what he was being told. Was he really...? No screaming, no hitting, nobody in sight besides-   
  
"Spot," he whimpered, and immediately broke down, face soaked through with tears in seconds. "I don't know what I did but I didn't mean to. I thought he'd stop like all the other times." He stifled a yelp of pain as he shifted. His boyfriend never liked it when he whined and complained, even when he was hurt. Right now it was just his wrist, ribs, and leg that hurt, but he knew from experience that it would only get worse. He remembered his wrist getting kicked when he'd blocked a blow aimed at his face, but couldn't match the other pain to specific places.   
  
"I gotta get back to the apartment, he's gonna kill me if I don't show up and he finds me." Race wasn't exaggerating, either. From the experience of past mistakes, he was sure he wouldn't live through just walking away from that asshole. And there was no way Spot would turn back to him and offer to keep him safe. He went to stand up but couldn't put any weight on his leg, crying out when he tried even though he did his best to not make any noise.  
  
"Like all the other-?" Spot repeated, then swore softly under his breath. "Aww, fuck, Racer." He didn't know what to say, and just focused on pulling his jacket around Race's body more, pausing when Race yelped. "Hey, no, stay still, don't move. It's okay, I got you. He crawled off, I'm not gonna let him get you again, okay, Racer? You're good." He checked his phone to see if the others had checked their phones yet and bothered to answer his half SOS.   
  
"Hey, no, there's no fucking way you're going back to him after what just happened, Race," Spot declared firmly, but not unkindly. He held out a hand for him to get up, then swooped in to support him, scooping him up into his arms as gently as he could. "Okay, we're going to a hospital to get you checked over. No negotiations. I'm not risking you on that asshole's account." So maybe he was still a little attached, what were you gonna do about it. But where the fuck were Jack, Davey, and Crutchie?  
  
Race gave Spot a disbelieving look when he told him that it was okay. It was absolutely not okay, he had to get home before his boyfriend did or he didn't even want to know what would happen. He already hurt, and he knew he hadn't gotten away with it, not by a long shot. Chances were, he'd get twice as worse than he already had, and he'd have to put some effort into figuring out how to avoid going to the hospital or anything. They would ask questions and he might not be able to answer them in a way to avoid being suspected, and if he got caught betraying his boyfriend... He shuddered just at the thought of what would be done to him in retaliation for that.   
  
Then his look morphed into betrayal as Spot continued. "The only reason he got at me the first time is because you abandoned me. You told me I was nothing." His voice cracked on the last word, all the emotions of their parting flooding back into him alongside everything he was already feeling. "Well, guess what, you were right. I'm worth shit and he made sure I knew it." Something he never would have thought that Spot and some abusive bastard would have in common, but he'd never thought he would break up with Spot either. Or, more accurately, that Spot would leave him.   
  
He dropped his gaze to the ground when Spot told him he wasn't going back to his boyfriend. "He's got all my stuff, all my money. I ain't got anywhere else I can go. 'Sides, if I keep putting it off, he'll just beat me worse when I go back." And in Race's eyes, there weren't many options that didn't include the man who had so thoroughly abused him. Spot would never help him, and he doubted that Jack or Davey or any of the others would choose him over Spot. He wasn't worth it, not at all, and besides, he'd just be bringing trouble to their door.   
  
"A hospital? Why? I'm fine, Spot, get off, I gotta get back to-" And then he stumbled a little, and Spot was picking him up of all things. Race forgot everything he was going to complain about at the feeling of safety that washed over him, and he quieted a little, settling down with his hurt arm cradled against his chest and his other arm coming up around Spot's neck. Being able to touch someone, without that person taking it as an invitation to hurt or use him, was pretty much an unfamiliar feeling. Of anyone, he would have picked Spot, though he never would have admitted that to anyone besides himself.   
  
And then there was a flurry of noise not far away, and Jack, Davey, and Crutchie were on the scene. Race didn't recognise them at first, and tensed up thinking it was his boyfriend and his buddies. But as soon as he saw their faces, he relaxed a little, though he wasn't as loose as he'd been when it was just him and Spot. The three of them were all asking questions, but Race just shook his head instead of answering. "I don't feel good," he mumbled, resting his head on Spot's shoulder and closing his eyes. And not just from what were probably broken bones, there was an unease in his stomach that made him feel like he was gonna puke.  
  
Spot just grunted as Race gave him a betrayed look. "Yep, well, I'm an asshole, aren't I?" He fought down the urge to somehow travel back in time and pummel himself just like he'd pummelled that asshole, but settled for making sure Race was as warm as he could get him. "You're worth more than anything," he muttered, almost to himself as he examined Race's face carefully, as if he didn't mean to say it out loud.  
  
He was glad Race didn't struggle when he picked him up, as that could have made it a lot more painful for the both of them. "Shh," he soothed gently, shifting him into a slightly more comfortable position.  
  
He looked up as Davey, Crutchie, and Jack finally arrived, and rolled his eyes briefly. "Are any of you sober enough to drive?" he asked, ignoring their questions as well. "Race needs a hospital." He glanced down at Race himself, noting the position and closed eyes. "Racer, hey, can you stay awake for me? Just in case you gotta concussion, yeah? That's great," he murmured, pressing a brief kiss to his forehead without thinking at all.  
  
"No, sir," Race mumbled, ducking his head a little. There was no way he was going to be disrespectful in answering a question like that. Spot might have never physically hurt him like his current boyfriend had, but their relationship had certainly ended on a sour note. And he'd learned that he could trust nobody when it came to his own safety and how long it continued. Everyone was dangerous in some way or another.   
  
He glanced up when Spot muttered to himself, lips starting to form a question before he decided not to speak. Was there really a chance that he had heard right? Did Spot... would he... after everything... and with him? Race didn't dare to believe it, at least not now. Maybe if Spot didn't just dump him off at the hospital and leave him again, Race could try to get back in his good graces. Whatever was necessary to do that, it would be less than he'd done for his current boyfriend, he was sure of it.   
  
At Spot's soothing, he made a vaguely discontented noise, not even realizing he had until after he'd already done it. The other didn't seem to be angry at him in the least, though Race could definitely sense the emotion in him. He'd gotten good in realising when people were angry, when he should run and lock himself in the closet and hope that whoever was looking for him had forgotten he was even in the house. In fact, he'd done it just a couple nights ago, shaking in the closet with his arms wrapped around his knees, careful not to breathe too loudly so that his boyfriend wouldn't find him.   
  
"I'm designated driver," Crutchie said, digging his keys out of his pocket. "Hey, man, what happened? Who was it?"   
  
"I du'wanna," Race complained, but opened his eyes slightly. God forbid he disobey an order. Spot had run his boyfriend off, therefore he was stronger and more dangerous. Running afoul of him could get him far worse than his boyfriend had ever given him. But his eyes opened a little wider when Spot kissed him, looking almost childlike in his blatant wonder. Though he kept his eyes open, he snuggled in a little closer to Spot's chest. He was still crying, but it was quieter now, since he was naturally still feeling like he had to try to not get caught by someone that would hurt him.  
  
"Yes, sir," Spot contradicted gently. "Repeat after me, Spot Conlon is an asshole. And don't call me sir, it ain't needed. Ya know my name, Racer. I swear I ain't gonna hurt y'again if I can helps it. Okay?"  
  
His forehead creased at Race's discontented sound. "Hey, yous is okay now. We's got ya." He looked over at Crutchie, then down at Race again. "I'll explain when we's gets there. Just needs to get Race sorted first." When he glanced up, a flicker of uncertainty came across his face, betraying his true terror that Race wouldn't be alright and it would be his fault. But then it was gone, replaced by the same mask as always, hard and confident.  
  
He cradled Race closer, pressing his lips to the top of his head out of habit, like he used to do when they had been together. "Thank you, doll," he murmured, then started walking in the direction Crutchie led them, trying to make the journey as gently as possible. "It's okay, yous can let it out, Racer. I ain't gonna be judgin' you for a very, very long time."  
  
"Spot Conlon is an asshole," Race repeated. Which was something that he didn't really have any problems saying, at the moment, though he was still a bit wary of the guys that had once been his friends. After all, he'd trusted his boyfriend at first, and look where that had got him. Besides, he was tired and in pain and just wanted to collapse somewhere and hold onto Spot's promise of protection. He wanted to feel safe again. He was pretty sure he still remembered what that felt like, despite all the time that he'd spent under his boyfriend's control.   
  
But still... "Okay," he whispered. He could trust him, just for a little while, and believe that maybe he could be safe again, away from the abusive relationship he'd been trapped in for what felt like years. If anyone could keep him safe, though, it would be Spot. It would be the one that had already defended him against his worst nightmare and done it without getting him harmed at all.   
  
"I know," he said softly when Spot promised that they had him and he was okay. He wasn't really sure that he believed it, really, but he wished he could. He wished he could say those words and think that he wasn't doomed to have his boyfriend come tearing around the corner to rip that peace and safety away from him.   
  
When Spot held him closer, Race relaxed a bit more, shifting the tiniest bit so he could snuggle closer to him. He was hurting more and more now, as the adrenaline started to fade just a little at a time. "I-It hurts," he confessed. More than he would like to admit, and he wanted to keep that fact hidden, but Spot had promised to take him to the hospital and keep him safe. And at the other's insistence that he could cry as he wanted, he broke down again. He'd be crying for a long, long time before he ran out of tears. And he wanted to be held close to Spot's chest, wrapped up in his arms, until everything was taken care of and he could just fall asleep slowly.  
  
"C'mon, Racer, say it like yous mean it," Spot teased gently. "Yous had no trouble sayin' it before, huh?"  
  
He smiled a little despite himself as Race pulled himself closer, securing his grip around the taller, but lighter, boy, but it quickly slipped at Race's quiet admission. "Hey, I know it does, doll. Hold on for me, okay? We's gonna get you sorted." He quickened his stride until they finally reached Crutchie's car.   
  
As gently as he could, he laid Race in a seat and strapped him in, quick to move around to the other side to get in next to him and hold his hand. "Hey, I'm here, 's okay, Racer." He shifted closer to let Davey into the far side so they could all fit into the car, and held Race's left hand with his left as he wrapped a protective right arm around his shoulders.  
  
"Never had to worry about what would happen if I said it before," Race answered. He hadn't had to worry about Spot or his boyfriend or anyone else, anything else. And he missed that feeling he didn't remember.   
  
Rather than answering, he simply whined under his breath, clearly in great pain. HIs eyes kept closing as they moved, but he tried to obey Spot, tried to keep them open. About halfway to the car he started coughing and couldn't stop for a long minute, until he'd coughed up blood all over Spot's shoulder. The coughing just made his stomach hurt worse, and he whimpered as Spot carried him, desperate for anything to alleviate the unending pain.   
  
He made a scared, desperate sound as Spot suddenly left him, trying to undo the seatbelt but not moving with enough coordination to even manage it. But then Spot was back, thank god, and Race curled towards him a little. It still hurt everywhere, and he couldn't help a low moan of pain, shutting his eyes tightly and throwing his head back against the back of the seat. The pain kept getting worse, until, finally, he blacked out, slumping against Spot's side, which was still wet with his own blood.


End file.
